


Christmas Times

by pukajen



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 04:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9056206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pukajen/pseuds/pukajen
Summary: Five Christmases when Merlin and Arthur were friends and one when they were more.Merlin/Arthur - their first Christmas as more than friends.The first Christmas that they knew each other, Merlin didn't get Arthur a gift.





	1. 2006

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my wonderful friend prime_meridian who got me into Merlin, sent me a starter fic list, and let me know about this holiday challenge.
> 
> Rating is for the last chapter.

The first Christmas that they knew each other, Merlin didn't get Arthur a gift. He didn't send Arthur an email or text wishing him happy Christmas (that there was no mobile coverage in Ealdor was just a convenient excuse). Merlin had given a brief thought to sending Arthur an email (Merlin's internet at home was brilliant, though mainly because he'd badgered his mum into getting a high speed connection claiming that it would do wonders for the small bed and breakfast that she ran, and it had, something he never let her forget.), but Will had stopped by with a some beer and the thought had slipped away.

It wasn't that Merlin didn't get on with Arthur. After a rocky couple of weeks, they'd come to a grudging understanding about personal possessions and being quiet when the other needed to study. Arthur still occasionally poked about in Merlin's things claiming that he was tidying up, and Merlin still shouted when he was gaming, but otherwise he used text-based chats now. For the most part they didn’t want to kill each other. (Or in Merlin’s case, have dark thoughts about shaving half of Arthur's head bald. Merlin suspected that Arthur would be nearly as attractive without his lovely, lovely hair. So soft and shiny, and touchable. No, not touchable at all. No touching of one’s roommate.) 

However, when Merlin was using the chat window with Gwaine, Gwaine would usually end up pounding on their door and claim that he had better uses for his fingers than typing (which considering Gwaine wanted to be journalist was a bit ridiculous) and if Arthur was so easily distracted by Merlin’s talking, then Arthur needed to get a pair of earplugs. (There might have been mention of plugs of other kinds, but Merlin might have had a minor stroke just then.)

It was Gwaine's fault that he and Arthur were stuck together in a dorm room. When Gwaine had figured out that both Merlin (or DragonLord as Gwaine knew Merlin then through WoW) and Arthur (who Gwaine new from school) would be attending ULC with him, Gwaine had hacked into the school's housing assignment program and paired up Merlin and Arthur. (Because how could he not? Though he seemed to be regretting it a bit now.)

It had been Four months since they’d met and while Merlin and Arthur hadn't killed each other, they weren't exactly friends either. Arthur was often an self-entitled arse, who strode around London as if he owned the place. (Though, to be fair, his father owned large portions of it and someday it would all be Arthur's to rule over.) But that was no reason for Arthur to be such a prat.

Despite the fact that Merlin was in the medical program (one of the hardest to get into in the world), Arthur treated Merlin as if he were an idiot. To be fair, Merlin had tripped over his own feet the first time he'd met Arthur, crashing into him, causing both of them to go tumbling down and breaking Arthur's laptop. That the damage was only cosmetic which Merlin had pointed out, then prattled on like an idiot hadn't made for the best first impression.

By the time Christmas holidays were upon them, he and Arthur had come to terms with each other. Though Merlin didn't think that they would ever be friends, they (probably) wouldn't be setting fire to each other's belongings in a fit of rage either.

Probably.


	2. Christmas 2008

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third Christmas that he knew Merlin was the oddest Christmas of Arthur's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to my wonderful friend prime_meridian who got me into Merlin, sent me a starter fic list, and let me know about this holiday challenge.
> 
> Rating is for the last chapter.

The third Christmas that he knew Merlin was the oddest Christmas of Arthur's life.

It wasn't that it was bad, but the experience was something so removed from Arthur's previous Christmases as to be nearly magical.

Usually Christmas found his father even more cold and distant than usual, with Arthur and Morgana sniping at each other until Father lost his temper and yelled at them both, yet forced them to grimly finish their meal. Or, he and Morgana dressed up and were put on display for various business associates of his father was trying to intimidate or impress. Three years ago, he and Morgana had got unintentionally and spectacularly pissed on some very expensive whiskey culminating in passing out in the games room (on the billiard table, there might have been vomit involved) and being found by one of Father's guest. The fallout, which had not been pleasant, had spilled over into last year's Christmas, with Morgana having refused to come home. 

The opulent dining room of the Camelot house had never felt more like a prison.

So far, Christmas at Merlin's mum's place was nothing like that. It was more of some strange hodgepodge of every holiday special he claimed never to have seen (all Morgana's doing) with soft focus and sharp edges, jagged silences broken by riotous laughter that made everything real. (Some edges, mainly the potato peeler, we're sharp enough to cut, but that was fine.)

And though he didn't quite know where he fit in here (at all), Arthur found himself enjoying the day more than any other Christmas of his past. Handing out mugs of mulled wine, watching the smiles on his friends' faces as they opened various presents (with a five poind limit, the gifts were mostly of the joking or incredibly creative kind), playing Scrabble (chwyrligwgan was not a word that Arthur was going to permit, no matter what Merlin said about in Wales or his mum's house).

Merlin's mother had closed her bed and breakfast to the public to make room for all of them: Morgana, Gwen, Elyan, Leon, Gwaine, Percy, and Elena.

None of them really had anywhere to go for Christmas. Gwaine's suggestion of debauchery in Ibiza had been popular in a hedonistic sort of way, but when Merlin had announced that he was taking Gwen and Elyan home with him, somehow everyone else ended up being invited as well. (Arthur had pretended not to hear her crying softly when she'd sneaked into their room in the quietest part of the night, thanking Merlin in a choked voice for making her first Christmas without her father one filled with friends.)

Somehow, in the various bedroom assignments, Arthur had ended up sharing not only a room with Merlin, but a bed. There had been all sorts of reasons given.

Gwaine's, 'For fucks sake, Princess, you've share a tiny box of a room with him for the passed two and a half years. It's not as if you haven't smelled his farts before!' had been been the most succinct as to why Arthur and Merlin had been assigned the honeymoon suite.

That Arthur had smelled (and heard) more than that. That he woke up hard and aching and trying to be as quiet as he could while he desperately waited for Merlin's breathing to even out so that Arthur could have a frantic wanked to thoughts of unruly black hair, amazingly blue eyes, and a lips that were made for kissing (or other things) was something that he could never let anyone suspect. Not if he didn't want to be disowned. At best.

There were no reasonable objections that Arthur could give: that Merlin liked blokes and it could make Merlin uncomfortable was shot down with a derisive snort from Merlin himself and his snarky mumble of 'not if he was the last one left alive', Arthur barely got started on the fact that Elena was getting her own room before her death glare shut him up.

When Gwaine, with a curious look in his eyes that had Arthur's fists tightening, volunteered to swap with Arthur, Arthur stopped fighting and decided that sharing a bed with Merlin was probably going to be the best and worst present he got.

He wasn't wrong. 

Conscious of the fact that letting his control slip would be disastrous, Arthur was very careful how much he drank. For the most part, so was Merlin. Except for Boxing Day, when his idiotic friend Will had come round and they'd drunk themselves legless over the course of the afternoon.

Arthur had hauled Merlin up to bed and helped him strip down to his pants and vest, then made him drink as much water as Arthur thought Merlin could manage, before crawling into bed next to Merlin. 

Merlin had always been tactile (at their first meeting, when Merlin had literally crashed into him, then spent the next several minute alternately babbling and petting both Arthur and his broken laptop) and drunk Merlin was clingy as well. 

A drunk Merlin in bed, was a fucking octopus. After three-quarters of an hour, Arthur gave up trying to keep Merlin from snuggling up against him and settled them down until Merlin's head rested on his chest, Merlin's left arm wrapped around Arthur's torso, fingers fisted in Arthur's ancient Albion Knights t-shirt, left leg thrown over both of Arthur's.

Though he'd barely slept more than two hours when he woke to the sounds of Merlin retching in their en suite, it was one of the best (and worst) nights of his life.


	3. Christmas 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By their fifth Christmas, Merlin considered Arthur one of his best mates.

By their fifth Christmas, Merlin considered Arthur one of his best mates.

They had a small place together off campus that wasn't much bigger than their previous dorm rooms had been, but it was theirs. A flat Merlin was certain there was no way he could afford despite Arthur's ‘My father's company owns the building and is letting us pay an agreed upon fair rate for a junior executive and a medical student.’ Having met Uther, Merlin felt pretty confident in thinking that there was no way in hell that Uther would reduce the rent of a flat in central London for anyone, even his son. Especially, his son. That Arthur was no doubt paying the lion's share of the rent was something he decided never to bring up.

Though he had asked Arthur back to his mum's for Christmas, Uther had commanded Arthur to be at his side for Christmas (business) dinners or ‘face the consequences'.

From the grim set of Arthur's jaw and the tight way he held himself, Merlin knew that whatever the ‘consequences’ were, Arthur would rather not have to face them. And, if the ‘consequences’ were being disowned, well, Merlin might have wondered in the privacy of his own mind if breaking away from Uther wouldn't be healthier for Arthur. It seemed to have been for Morgana, but then she had a trust fund that had nothing to do with Uther or the name Pendragon.

If Merlin had held onto Arthur a bit longer than normal mates would when parting for the holidays, it was only because Merlin knew how awful Arthur's Christmas was going to be. (Okay, the feel of Arthur's hard chest pressed tightly against his own and the way Arthur's hands briefly fisted in the back of Merlin's ratty jumper might have had something to do with it too.)

This was the longest time that they'd spent apart since that Christmas break first year. It was odd knowing that he wouldn't be seeing Arthur for almost a month because Uther was dragging Arthur along on his global surprise inspections of Pendragon Industries' holdings.

The Arthur-shaped hole in Merlin's life hit Merlin far harder than he expected it to. Now that he was into his clinical studies, he was rarely home and when he was, Merlin was too tried to do anything except collapse in his bed and sleep for as long as he could.

In the past, nearly every time Merlin had gone back to Ealdor, Arthur had remained in London or been back by the time Merlin returned. (Twice, Merlin had convinced Arthur to come back to Ealdor with him, but Will and Arthur did not get on at all and Freya was creepily quiet around Arthur. )

A couple of those times, Arthur had been travelling (usually with his father to oversee some new acquisition or photo op or to be dragged through this or that new company holding) or gone back to his father’s estate.

Mostly, though, Arthur stayed in London working at the headquarters of Pendragon Industries, both loving and hating every second of it. (Uther rarely took Arthur's ideas or policy shifts into consideration no matter how well researched and planned out. And, Arthur being Arthur, had loads of ideas and plans and strategies how to make Pendragon Industries more environmentally friendly, how to be a better employer, all while making a profit.)

This time, it was Merlin who was going to remain in London while Arthur was away. The quick two night trip back to Ealdor for Christmas (well, for fake Christmas as real Christmas was in four days. Merlin was going to be working Christmas Eve, Christmas, Boxing Day, and basically straight through until the New Year) was the only time off Merlin would be getting for a while. (Years, it seemed.)

When he was nearly done unpacking (and how he needed a rucksack packed fit to burst for two days, he had no idea, but everything had seemed vital), Merlin found a brand new unpackaged HTC Desire (so far out of his price range, despite the dodgy nature of his current mobile, Merlin had yet to buy a new one), with a note stuck to it shoved into the front of his rucksack.

'Too late to return it or give it back. I loaded up with the essential apps and numbers. Text me so that I know that you're not dead in a ditch somewhere. A.'

“Wanker,” Merlin muttered, turning on the phone.

Just because he'd put Will's shite car into a ditch that one spectacular summer solstices when Arthur had been visiting (the last time Arthur had come home with Merlin), didn't mean he made a habit of it.

And, alright, there had been that one time in Majorca, but that was hardly his fault. The choices had been the oncoming tourist coach barrelling towards them at at least a fifty kilometres an hour (they weren't exactly poking along at twenty over that) and crossed over into their lane or the ditch. He chose the ditch. That's what insurance was for anyway.

_Not dead in a ditch_ , Merlin texted Arthur, happy to see two full bars of signal. Ealdor was coming up in the world.

**Wish I was** , came Arthur's reply moments later.

Merlin's heart lurched in his chest (something he knew, three years in to his MMBS, was medically impossible) as he pondered his answer.

_Ditches are cold this time of year. Or so I've heard. Even in Dubai._

**I fully believe that you have personal experience with ditches no matter the time of year and can hypothesize what they are like the world over.**

_Prat. How's Dubai?_

**Sandy.**

_I was hoping for a bit more than that. The only reason I'm friends with you is to find out how Extremely Posh People live._

**Sunny. The boardroom, reception, even the loos of the oil conglomerate are decorated for Christmas. Despite the fact that none of the people I've met so far celebrate the holiday.**

_My mum says that she's got some Christmas pudding put aside for you. That we're to share it when we're back in London._

That Merlin hated Christmas pudding was a well-kept secret between him and Arthur. The recipe that his mum used was one she got from his dad and Merlin ate it rather than ever again see the poorly hidden heartbroken look she got when he refused to eat it the Christmas he was seven.

When Arthur had visited for Christmas, he'd not only eaten Merlin's serving (without Merlin's mum noticing), but asked for seconds for himself.

Merlin often wondered how Arthur had managed to be as decent (amazing) as he was having been raised by such a money-hungry, cold-hearted bastard as Uther Pendragon. Despite all of his arrogant prattish tenancies, Arthur was at heart a very generous, caring person. Though, sometimes Merlin had to remind himself of that fact when Arthur was being a particularly entitled dick.

Suddenly, a string of text messages came in such rapid succession that Merlin thought Arthur must have been saving them up.

**My father is off trying to convince the locals that they don't really need controlling interests in their land to control the oil under it. I've been confined to the office with assigned reading material. Father promises me that I won't be getting supper if I can't hold a comprehensive conversation with him about the legal ramifications of holding land versus ground rights in the UAE. As if I was a recalcitrant child refusing to do my homework or tidy my room, not a man of twenty-one who graduated with a first in Information Management for Business. If he has no faith in me to do the smallest task, how does he expect me to take over the company from him when the time comes?**

Merlin wished that he could somehow reach through the lines (well, satellite bounces) and give Arthur a long, hard hug. No good came of Arthur spending so much time with his father or alone after his father had been a twat.

_I think that maybe he's so hard on you to make absolutely certain that you know the ins and outs of every aspect of how to run such a huge company._ Or, Merlin thought, but didn't text, because your father is a colossal arsehole with such high expectations of his son as to be unobtainable.

**Sometimes I wish that I was brave enough to tell him to fuck off and fend for myself. Like Morgana did.**

Merlin's heart did that lurching thing again. Never before had Arthur spoken so harshly against his father. There had to be more than Arthur was letting on (there usually was) and Merlin dreaded to think what else Uther had done. Merlin wanted nothing more than to be there with Arthur, to able to give that a hug, and tell Arthur that he was amazing. Maybe with more than words. (Fuck. Now was not the time for his inconvenient crush (raging lust) for his best mate to push to the forefront.)

_It has nothing to do with braver_ y, Merlin texted, trying not to imagine Arthur alone in some sterile boardroom with stacks of printouts to cull through before he would be allowed to eat. (Clearly, he was crap at getting his brain to obey where Arthur was concerned tonight.) _You know what you want to do with your father's, with your company. You stick it out because of the potential for what could be. When the time comes, you'll make a brilliant CEO. You amaze me and my life is so much better for having you in it._

So much had time passed (seventeen minutes), that Merlin was certain that Arthur was regretting what he'd said and more, what Merlin had replied. Worry that Arthur would either be pointedly oblivious when they were back in London or tease Merlin mercilessly twisted in his gut. (Yet another medical improbability.)

**I wish I was there with you.** (Nineteen minutes later.)

Merlin looked at his screen for a long time, suddenly wondering what time it was in Dubai, how late supper was going to be. How much this was costing Arthur (well, Uther, so fuck it) to text Merlin. How many more days (fuck, weeks!) it would be until he could see Arthur again.

_I wish you were here too._

There were no more texts that night.


	4. Christmas 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though it was not a turkey, Arthur was rather pleased with his ability to get Merlin's favourite foods for Christmas dinner.

Though it was not a turkey, Arthur was rather pleased with his ability to get Merlin's favourite foods for Christmas dinner. (Curry wasn't a problem, nor were the chips. The pizza however had proven a bit of challenge.)

Not that Merlin would have eaten a turkey now that he was full vegetarian. Something that, nearly a year on, seemed to be sticking no matter how Arthur mocked him. 

From the smile that lit up Merlin's face when Arthur showed up in the in the break room where Merlin was slouched at the table his pager sitting quietly (Merlin's chosen path as a doctor in the A&E was not a peaceful one), reading a travel magazine, Arthur knew that the wrath his father would spew for missing a business dinner with some investors would be worth it. Oddly enough, it was the magazine that caused Arthur to pause (he was well used to his father's anger). The beautiful, sunny beach with grass picturesque huts looked incredibly appealing after weeks of rain and fog.

Arthur wondered if there was a way to convince Merlin to get away somewhere warm on his next mini-break. To find a place where no one demanded their time, their attention, their lives. Where they could sit all day and just be. Also, seeing Merlin in nothing but a swimming costume would be, yeah, best end that line of thought right now, but later... As the years had passed, Arthur had given up policing his own thoughts where Merlin was concerned; it wasn't as if anything would come of them. His mind was still his own, even if just about every other part of him belonged to his father and Pendragon Industries.

It had been so long since he'd been able just to relax with Merlin without either of their phones calling them into work. He missed his friend. More than missed him. It felt as if part of Arthur was missing, or maybe not missing so much as on hold. Waiting for a time when he'd be able to chat with Merlin whenever he wanted to, able to go down to the Rising Sun for a pint and cottage pie (meat for him, quorn for Merlin), or watching rugby or footie or the last two episodes of The Great British Bake Off which had been languishing away on their plus box for the last two months. 

So, for their sixth Christmas since meeting, they gorged themselves on food. Though by the time they got around to eating, the chips were soggy and the pizza far from hot, it was still one of the best meals Arthur had had in ages. 

Their conversation was of the non-apocalypse four days prior; Merlin taking the side of utter nonsense, Arthur siding with the doomsdayers who thought the end of the Mayan calendar meant the end of days and the timing might be just a smidgen off, of the upcoming Six Nations with Merlin of course spouting off about the glory of Wales and that they were again going to conquer their foes for a second straight title.

Their comradery lasted nearly an hour before Merlin was called away.


	5. Christmas 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By their ninth Christmas, they were barely speaking.

By their ninth Christmas, they were barely speaking any more and Merlin was giving serious consideration to calling in an exorcist.

After the shock of Uther's death had worn off, Merlin had thought that Arthur would take over Pendragon Industries and start methodically implementing all the changes that he'd been talking about for as long as they'd known each other. 

Instead, Arthur seemed to be turning into Uther before Merlin's eyes. 

None of the 'Merlin, don't be an idiot, you have no idea how the business world works. Of how to run a company the size of Pendragon Industries.' from Arthur changed the fact that Arthur had gone from being his regular prattish self, to an outright arsehole even in private.

Especially in private. 

For the first time in five years, Merlin wasn't working on Christmas day. Originally, Arthur was supposed to come with him to Ealdor, but after their last conversation (held at a decibel level sure to cause some sort of permanent hearing loss), Merlin wasn't certain he ever wanted to speak to Arthur again. 

The pain Merlin felt was nothing that could be fixed by medical science (though, if anyone ever did find the cure for a broken heart, Merlin would be first in line for the clinical trials) and no matter how much his mum tried, there wasn't really anything she could do. (Will tried too, with whiskey, which ended up with Merlin bemoaning his love/hate for Arthur Pendragon in a way he never had before and a raging hangover.)

Ten years of friendship and the potential for something more. Something that simmered between them that Merlin thought that they would be able sort out after Uther was out of the picture – though dead wasn't quite what Merlin had wished, more Arthur getting fed up and walking away or coming to some sort of armed truce – had been shoved so far down by Arthur as to be non-existent. For as long as they'd known each other, Merlin had always been conscious of Arthur's eyes on him, of the small touch – and not so small ones – they always exchanged, of the invasion of personal space, and of the way Merlin knew the real Arthur, his dreams, his fears, his secrets; the biggest being that Arthur liked both men as well as women but wasn't something that Uther could ever know about were in tatters. So torn apart that Merlin didn't know if they could ever fix their friendship, let alone the something more that was between them. 

Taking a couple of precious hours to himself, Merlin tried to get his head on straight. He walked through fields, clambered over stone fences, and went to go sit against the standing stones that stood a little way outside of the village. Ones that were older than memory, but rarely visited by tourists as they weren't grand enough to make any of the brochures. (For which Merlin was very grateful.)

Though his arse was numb and the sun hung low on the horizon (the sheep had long since stopped caring that he was there), Merlin wasn't ready to move, to try and put on a happy face for his mother. It hurt to think, to be alone, but it hurt to be around people. 

Merlin had been so excited to spend Christmas with his mother and Arthur. So filled with hope that away from London, away from home (Arthur's blandly appropriate penthouse that had no personality or warmth, Merlin's flat which was filled with clutter and memories of when they'd both lived there), away from their professional lives and pressures, that they would finally take the next step. (Or, at maybe shut the door on it permanently, which would have also been heartbreaking, if in a more bittersweet sort of way.)

A car drove by, then stopped. It took approximately a dozen little back and forths for it to manage to turn around, much to Merlin's amusement. Amusement turned to irritation when the car parked, blocking the gate to the field.

Fucking perfect, just what he needed, some lost toff stopping to look at the stones or worse, wanting to chat with a local, maybe ask for directions. 

An instant later, Merlin's heart started to race as the man strode towards him. Merlin would recognise Arthur anywhere.


	6. Christmas 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating is for this chapter.
> 
> Once again, thanks so much to prime_meridian for prodding me into the Merlin fandom. I should have listened to you years ago.

Merlin wakes slowly, consciousness seeping back into him like the rise of a tide. The first thing that he's truly aware of is that he's naked, then that he's warm (two things he seldom is upon waking, especially together), finally the weight of Arthur's arm slung low on his hips, his thumb ever so slowly moving in a barely there caress. 

Happiness fills Merlin as the realisation that Arthur is there, in bed with him. That he and Arthur have been together for nearly two years, that they will be together forever. 

That said, it's a rare morning for Merlin to wake with Arthur next to him. Apart from the constraints of their jobs, Arthur is a revoltingly cheerful and energetic morning person and, while Merlin can be up and at work without (too much) complaint, he would much rather sleep in. Floating in that in between place that's neither sleep nor full consciousness, letting his mind drift. Or faffing off on his mobile. Many a weekend morning he's woken to their empty flat (Arthur also likes running, and takes long runs on the weekend. Merlin will run if chased. And even then only if it's life or death.) and spent an hour lazing about reading about the world.

Though awake, Merlin lets his mind float for a bit, not opening his eyes, letting himself luxuriate in the lazy contentment of being in the moment, of having Arthur next to him (also naked, if the press of Arthur's bare knee to Merlin's left thigh and solid wall of his chest against Merlin's side are anything to go by), of breathing in the smell of their room (slightly stale after hours spent sleeping), of being warm (nearly too hot) under the duvet, of the steady movement of Arthur's left hand as he slides it lower on Merlin's abdomen. 

It's the surge of arousal that accompanies the feel of Arthur's hand so close to his groin that finally convinces Merlin to open his eyes.

Dim grey light sneaks around the edges of the curtains, just enough to make out shapes if not precise details. Turning his head, Merlin meets Arthur's eyes; despite the lack of light, Merlin can identify the amusement and the love in them. It's something he's seen every day now for nearly two years. 

“Morning,” Arthur whispers. Though gruff, he sounds alert, so Merlin knows that Arthur has been awake for a while. Probably torn between the drive to get up, to do, and the want to stay in bed with Merlin, to watch him sleep, wake, to be there (as he so rarely is) for this moment. 

Shifting over, Merlin plants a soft kiss on Arthur's mouth; a thanks, a greeting, a wordless 'I love you'. The fingers of his right hand carding through Arthur's soft hair. It's just long enough that Merlin can tug and pull (hold on) when he needs to.

They take their time with the kiss, (kisses?). A gentle press, a slow rub, lips parting, tongues sliding together, then exploring, relearning. Neither of them mind the morning breath, too taken with kissing each other (and the infrequency of being in bed together first thing) to leave the cocoon of their bed to clean their teeth.

Arthur snuggles closer, throwing his left leg over both of Merlin's, his cock nestling alongside Merlin's hip. From how hard Arthur is, Merlin suspects that Arthur has been awake and planning for a while. Not that Merlin minds, he knows from past experiences that more often than not following Arthur can lead to amazing things. (And one nearly acquired ASBO, but they have both agreed to never, ever speak of that again.)

Thoughts of past plans scatter, as Arthur's hand creeps lower and slower until his fingers wrap around Merlin's half-hard cock. Then nothing, just fingers holding him, too loose for any meaningful friction, too tight to be ignored. Memory of what Arthur's hands can do to his cock has it swelling quickly, though the lack of anything more is maddening. 

With a huff of frustration, Merlin tries to turn to face Arthur fully, but Arthur keeps Merlin in place with his leg and moving just a little so that he can use his superior bodyweight, chest pressing Merlin firmly into the bed, keeping his left arm trapped against Merlin's side. 

Arthur's hand continues to hold Merlin's cock while his lips move (far less lazily) over Merlin's. When Arthur nips Merlin's bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, his fingers squeeze one at a time in slow wave of pleasure. Merlin is now achingly hard and wide awake.

Supporting himself on his right arm, Arthur moves more fully over Merlin, left leg sliding between both of Merlin's, the hairs of his upper thigh tickle Merlin's balls in the most tantalizing way. The contact is better than before, but still Merlin can't move the way he wants, needs to. Again, Merlin tries to arch against Arthur, this time sucking Arthur's tongue into his mouth, letting his teeth graze just a little. 

Arthur lets go of Merlin's cock and Merlin can't help the soft whine that he makes. A whine which turns into a moan as Arthur slots his cock against Merlin's and wraps his hand around both of them. 

It's a bit dry, but Arthur's hand is barely moving. It's more of a promise of what's to come. Once again, Arthur starts the slow squeeze and release. This time there is the added factor of Arthur's hard cock occasionally twitching against Merlin's to elevate Merlin's level of desire. 

Bending his right knee, Merlin raises his leg until his heel digs into the mattress near his arse, getting slightly better leverage to rise up and press against Arthur. 

There's no way that Merlin will ever overpower Arthur, not in this situation (though surprise attacks have been successful in the past), nor does Merlin really want to. What Merlin wants is more; more pressure, more movement, more everything. 

He moans again, shifting restlessly under Arthur as Arthur's thumb rubs the heads of their cocks, smearing pre-come. 

“So eager,” Arthur murmurs against Merlin's lips.

“Says the man whose cock was rock hard when I woke up,” Merlin answers, nipping at Arthur's bottom lip. 

“I always want you,” Arthur says, suddenly still and looking Merlin dead in the eyes. “Always.”

“I know, love,” Merlin says, stroking is right hand down Arthur's face, cupping his jaw. “Me too.”

Sometimes, it feels as if they'll never make up for all the missed opportunities, but mostly Merlin knows with a bone-deep certainty that they needed the long wait to both be ready for this. There will never be anyone else for him, Merlin knows, not ever again. And, he knows that it's the same for Arthur.

“I love you,” Arthur tells him, using his right index finger to to gently trace the shell of Merlin's ear. 

There's a weight to the words, a promise that feels heavier than the moment warrants; as if it's something that speaks through the ages. 

“I love you, too,” Merlin echoes, equally serious. 

“Always,” Arthur says, placing a soft kiss on Merlin's lips.

They stay still for several moments longer, emotions swirling between them. The morning could go either way:slow and intense and serious with the weight of their past and future all around them, or fast and teasing and fun, with their love and desire binding them together. Merlin wants this, their first Christmas together in their new home, to be filled with fun and laughter, underpinned with love.

“But,” Merlin says with a teasing smile, “I would love you more if you got a move on.”

“So impatient,” Arthur growls, but he's grinning. 

While the moment has passed, the seriousness lifted, the gravitas is still there, tucked under smile.

Much to Merlin's distress, Arthur once again releases his cock, though this time, Merlin slides his hand between their bodies to take over.

He only manages to get in three good strokes when he hears a click he knows well. Seconds later, Arthur shifts slightly, and his fingers gently circle Merlin's hole. 

Merlin jerks, unable to stop himself as desire skitters along nerve endings still sensitive from the night before. 

“Okay?” Arthur asks, the tips of his index fingers pushing against his entrance, testing ever so gently.

In answer, Merlin squirms until he can dig his heels in and opens his legs as wide as possible, granting Arthur better access. It hasn't been that long (maybe six hours, at most) and he's still a little loose. A little tender too, but the pleasure far outweighs the ache. 

It feels like ages, but eventually Arthur is done teasing (testing), and slides his finger into Merlin's hole. Arthur holds still, as he always does, eyes searching Merlin's face for any sign of discomfort, of not wanting this. 

Which is fucking daft, Merlin has wanted Arthur this way since they were eighteen and now that Merlin has had him (many, many, many times), Merlin only wants him more. There's a look about Arthur this morning, as if he's remembering every Christmas they've had; the ones together and apart. There's a tightness that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with missing and love.

Most times, Merlin does his best to sooth, to take his time, and let Arthur do want he wants, needs, to reassure them both that what they are is real (not at all one of the thousands of dreams they've both had over the years), that it'll last.

Today, however, they're a bit pressed for time. 

“Quit fucking about and get a move on,” Merlin chides with a smile, his hand squeezing both of their cocks for motivation. “We have a load of guests coming round for Christmas dinner.”

“They can wait,” Arthur says, though he does pull his finger back out before pushing two in.

Merlin groans and arches up as best he can into the touch; he loves the feel of Arthur inside him, pushing in, filling him up. 

“Knowing Gwaine, he'd join in,” Merlin jokes. Then moans as Arthur very deliberately slides a fingertip over Merlin's prostate. 

“No mentioning Gwaine in bed,” Arthur orders as he scissors his fingers wide.

“Gwaine—” 

Moving almost faster than Merlin can process, knocking Merlin's hand from their cocks. Arthur drops down so that his mouth to just above Merlin's left nipple, teeth biting hard (there'll be a mark there for sure), as inside him Arthur once again presses against Merlin's prostate. 

The twin sensations of pleasure and pain temporarily short-circuit Merlin's brain and he moans incoherently as he tries to figure out where to move. Merlin desperately wants to get his hand back on his cock, but Arthur's body is now blocking his access.

Before Merlin can work out how to get his hand back in place, Arthur has added a third finger and is now sucking at Merlin's nipple, the tip of his tongue flicking over the pebbled peak. Shocks of desire race along Merlin's body, as he rocks down on Arthur's fingers and arches up to his mouth.

Arthur knows Merlin; knows his body and mind and how to overload it. With a hint of teeth and the pressure of Arthur's thumb against Merlin's perineum, Merlin is on the knife edge of needing to come. 

“Fuck! Arthur,” Merlin moans, echoes of last night's slow build and hard fuck echoing in Merlin's cry. Knowledge of what's to come turn Merlin's voice rough.

“Shortly,” Arthur promises. 

The puffs of air from his words blow over Merlin's sensitive nipple causing Merlin to shudder. His muscles tighten in a primal response. Merlin's fingers scrabble for purchase, needing something to anchor himself more firmly in the moment. As Arthur once again pushes back into Merlin, Merlin manages to tangle his fingers in in Arthur's hair.

“Need you,” Merlin gasps out, hips moving in counterpoint to Arthur's hand. “Please.”

“Fuck, you're so hot like this,” Arthur grits out. Arthur leaves a trail of sharp, biting kisses as he slides up Merlin's body until his mouth once again claims Merlin's.

Their tongues rub together and Merlin tastes the sharp edge of desire. It takes a second for Merlin to realise that Arthur is withdrawing his fingers completely. 

“Arthur,” Merlin whines, mouth searching for Arthur's until they meet; it more of a clash teeth and lips than a kiss. Though Merlin knows that Arthur is getting his cock ready (he heard the lid of the lube popping open), the emptiness between fingers and cock always leaves Merlin on edge.

Arthur lines up the head of his cock with Merlin's hole then slowly slides in; slick and hot and hard and wonderful. 

When Arthur is fully seated, he breaks the kiss, checking once again that Merlin is okay. There's an ache, there always is, but it's so good and all Merlin wants is for Arthur to move and the feeling to never end.

Merlin doesn't have words, so he grabs Arthur's lovely arse with both of his hands and squeezes none too gently. Getting the hint, Arthur moves. Ever. So. Fucking. Slowly.

It feels like it might take a thousand years before Arthur has withdrawn until just the head of his cock is still inside Merlin, before pushing in at a glacial pace. 

Merlin swears he can feel ever twitch of Arthur's cock, every throb of his heartbeat. When Arthur pauses, the head of his cock just nudging Merlin's prostate, Merlin is ready to scream with thwarted need. (There might have been begging, but Merlin is too far gone to care.)

Sweat beads on Merlin's body, his own cock is rock-hard, his precome smearing their bellies, the rub of Arthur's stomach teases and taunts and feels fantastic, but still it's not nearly enough. 

Too close to the edge to wait, Merlin locks his legs around Arthur's arse, fingers digging into Arthur's back and pulls Arthur down even as surges up. The oof of air as they crash together is laced with their cries of desire. 

“Fucking move!” Merlin means it as an order, but it's more of a plea. One that Arthur finally heeds.

They slide together with grunts and groans of pleasure, Arthur slamming home again and again, the head of his cock rubbing over Merlin's prostate more often than not, sending shooting stars of pleasure exploding behind Merlin's closed eyes.

“Open,” Arthur commands, freezing, buried deep inside Merlin. 

Though it's an effort, Merlin opens his eyes to meet Arthur's. In the dim light, they look nearly black, glittering back at him. Merlin knows that they're the most amazing blue and filled with love and desire. 

“Fuck,” Merlin moans, as Arthur circles his hips, his cock moving so deep Merlin thinks he'll feel it for days.  
“Pull yourself off,” Arthur orders. 

Frantically, Merlin shoves his hand between their bodies, his fingers wrapping around his cock. 

“Oh, fuck!” Arthur cries out, voice sounding ragged, his hips jerking uncontrollably has his control frays. 

It's the knowing that Arthur nearly gone that sends Merlin tumbling over the edge. Well, that and a well-placed thrust that rattles his teeth and curls his toes and has Arthur's balls slapping against his arse. 

With a hoarse cry, Merlin comes, muscles bunching as pleasure crashes through him clearing his mind of anything that isn't Arthur. In his hand, his cock twitches and throbs, Merlin can feel his own come landing on his belly, trapped between their bodies. 

Dimly, Merlin becomes aware that Arthur hasn't moved, that he's let Merlin ride out his orgasm while holding off on his own.

Though the aftershocks of his own release are still making him tremble, Merlin deliberately clenches his arse around Arthur's cock, squeezing him tight as he rocks his hips. There's not much room to move, but it seems to be enough.

Arthur buries his face in Merlin's neck, teeth biting (another mark, Merlin is certain), as his hips move in uncoordinated thrusts. Moment's later, Arthur lets out a guttural cry as his own orgasm takes him. 

Merlin loves the feel of Arthur shuddering in his arms, of knowing that all Arthur can think of right now is pleasure and Merlin, that everything else has been shoved aside. 

Arthur's cock jerks again and warmth floods Merlin's arse. Merlin loves the feel of Arthur's come deep inside him; a tangible part of Arthur left behind for Merlin to keep. (He knows no matter how much cleaning up they do, that there'll be tiny cells of Arthur left behind.) 

Bonelessly, Arthur collapses on top of Merlin; a weight that Merlin is more than happy to bear. At least for a short while. 

As their breathing slows, they drop kisses on whatever parts their lips can reach. Merlin loves the salty taste of Arthur's skin and fleetingly wishes that it he was the on top so that he could lick the line of Arthur's neck. With Arthur on top of him, Merlin settles for butterfly kisses at Arthur's temple. 

All too soon, Arthur slides off Merlin. 

And, though Merlin lets out a whimper as he stretches legs left too long in one position, he misses the weight of Arthur pressing him down into the mattress. 

They curl around each other, sticky and still a little out of breath, but Merlin loves this too. The quiet after the storm, the gentle caresses and soft kisses.

There's so much they've done in the past, so much that they have yet to do, this Christmas will be the first in this place that is theirs without any shadows hanging over them.

It will be the first of many, of that Merlin is certain, but for right now, all Merlin wants to do is snuggle down under the blankets and wait for the sun to fully rise before joining a day with friends and family. A day sure to be filled with laughter and hugs and gag gifts (and one not so gag gift that Merlin plans on giving Arthur once everyone has gone) and too much food and just enough wine.

There's time for all that later, for now, it's just them in their home, holding each other and dozing as the world wakes up around them.


End file.
